


Moon in Water, Flowers in a Mirror

by PlumTea



Series: Horror A La Carte [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Gore, Character Death, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Murder, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: When Oikawa turns up in the corner of his garden, crouched behind the bushes, Iwaizumi couldn't be happier. He'd lost Oikawa months earlier, but the long days of mourning are gone. Now he's back. Still, there's something odd about Oikawa, something that just seemswrong.





	Moon in Water, Flowers in a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evercelle (amagnetism)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amagnetism/gifts).



> Day 3: Witch Trial  
>  **garden of poisons / be careful what you wish for** / blood for blood / cult of mysteries / sacrificial lamb / **a necessary transformation** / the silver dagger behind your back / blood pacts / those who kill men and harvest their organs for spells of immortality together, stay together, forever, like literally / nine crow feathers, one eagle’s heart, and a cupped hand of iron-rich blood  
> For [Iwaoi Horror Week!](https://iwaoi-horror-week.tumblr.com/)

On July 7th, Oikawa Tooru died.

Iwaizumi doesn’t remember much between hearing the news from his sobbing mother, and attending the funeral. A sea of black suits, tears, a picture surrounded by flowers.

The days blend together; schoolwork, chores, practice, nothing important, until one blue morning when Oikawa’s father comes by, holding an urn of ashes. “You were the closest to him,” he explains. “He would’ve wanted you to decide.”

Iwaizumi takes the urn, and it’s brilliantly cold.

What do you do with someone’s ashes? Put them in the family grave? Scatter them in the river? There are a thousand possible places, and Oikawa died too young to think about where he’d be where he should rest. A volleyball court would be the most appropriate, but impossible to execute.

Iwaizumi sits in the back of Oikawa’s house, overlooking the garden and wondering, before realizing that the answer was right in front of him all along.

When they were little, he and Oikawa had decided to change the barren gardens in the backs of their houses, so they gathered as many seeds up in the shops as they could and planted them all. Iwaizumi whispered a spell over both gardens so that whatever they planted would grow tall and beautiful. Oikawa’s parents both worked long hours but Oikawa took up the responsibility, even when they got into middle school and practice stretched his school days longer. He’d made a calendar to map his watering schedule, and stuck to it with the same fervor he put into volleyball.

His efforts weren’t in vain, and their gardens had bloomed into something magnificent. Iwaizumi maintained his out of routine, but Oikawa’s garden had fallen into disrepair over the spring, and is now too dense to tell the plants apart.

Iwaizumi scatters the ashes around all the plants that Oikawa had come to care for. Oikawa would like being at rest beneath the plants he grew, Iwaizumi thinks, Iwaizumi hopes.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi knows he’s the blunt type, never one to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden. Still, when Oikawa had told him years ago that plants love when you talk to them, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say something, for nothing nourishes and blossoms souls more than the power of words, but couldn’t think of what to say.

He wants his garden to grow tall and lovely with rich blossoms and rich fruits, and that needs good soil. As he cycles through his mind, he finds that nothing’s richer than the good moments in his life. Whenever he tends to them, he’d whisper of the great things that happened during the day, at least three. Even if they were small and mundane, they still brought him happiness, and he wanted to share that with the lives he was cultivating. Mostly, he talked about Oikawa, the boy that made each day just a little brighter, who was strong and brave and fierce, who he’d long since knew was the only person he could hold so tightly in his heart.

It might have been the magic on his breath, it might have been the contents of his stories, but even in the thick humidity of summer, all of Iwaizumi’s plants spread across the soil, green, thick, and healthy.

Without Oikawa’s words to nourish them, Oikawa’s garden has grown into a monstrosity. The vines grow the quickest, and have overtaken the garden walls. Even without any footholds to grip onto, they’ve slowly climbed up the concrete. The morning glories have overflown the hanging pots, and aren’t sure whether to droop or reach up. All the bushes have become too dense to see through, and weeds litter the flowerbeds around them.

It’s hard work taking care of two gardens between schoolwork and practice, but Iwaizumi stops by Oikawa’s house to tend to it every other day. Knotweed is especially a pain with the rhizomes spread all across the western side of the garden, but Iwaizumi managed to find all the roots after two weeks. The gnarled ivy huddled by the bushes look like hands, but he trims them back into something manageable.

One day, when the crows are idling along the rooftops and the humidity is unbearable, Iwaizumi spots something moving by the bushes. It’s probably nothing, just a bird, but no it moves again. Iwaizumi stands, and heaves the bushes aside.

He knows the person curled up with his knees to his chest, naked as if he’d just been born. Dirt pads his body, as if he’d been bathing in it. Not sure if it’s a mirage from the heat, Iwaizumi reaches out and feels a pulse beneath hard muscle, stumbling back when the boy looks up. Dark eyes set Iwaizumi’s heart alight, and his tools are forgotten in the dirt as he embraces the man before him.

Oikawa doesn’t talk, not even when Iwaizumi shakes all the dirt off him and leads him by the hand to the bathroom. Even the shower hitting him with water just a little too hot for his tastes doesn’t even give Iwaizumi a whine. Touching Oikawa’s body is natural for Iwaizumi, from all the roughhousing they did as children to the medical care after long days of practice, but he feels like he’s dusting off a precious vase instead of touching a human being.

There are new scars along Oikawa’s body, scars Iwaizumi doesn’t recognize until the dread finally pools in his stomach. He knows the circumstances because he saw the report. How Oikawa had left on a hiking trip one weekend and never came back, found deep in the mountains with a split head and snapped legs and half his organs devoured. The same wounds that had torn him apart are now sealed, traced with dark scars.

How was Oikawa alive? Was this a clone?

He kneads shampoo into Oikawa’s hair, letting the water flow out all the globs of dirt. Oikawa’s hair was always so thick and wild in its own practiced design, so he has to constantly pull the strands this way and that.

“Iwa-chan, you’re pulling too hard.” Oikawa looks at him, somewhere between a frown and a smile. “We don’t all have short, choppy hair.”

“Shut up, idiot,” comes out of his mouth on reflex.

“I’m back and that’s what you have to say to me? Seriously, no manners.”

And Iwaizumi knows that this isn’t a replica, this is actually Oikawa.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa’s mother takes the news with pinched lips. She stares at her son for a long minute, then pulls her husband into the other room. They don’t come out for a few hours.

“Hajime, my wife wants talk to you.” Oikawa’s father tells him. Looking to Oikawa, he offers, “Want some milk bread as you wait?”

“From Iguchi’s bakery?” Oikawa asks, apprehensive.

“You know it.”

Oikawa smiles, doubt gone. “I want two!” He’s too enraptured by the thought of desserts to worry about Iwaizumi.

When Iwaizumi sees Oikawa’s mother, he sees the puffiness of her eyes first. Her arms are crossed but she holds them too tight. “Your family has never hidden what they are from us, but your mother has also made it very clear that some things don’t happen easily.”

Raising the dead isn’t easy, much less a complete revival. Calling forth the dead to speak with them is no issue, and reincarnation is part of the natural flow of life. It’s easy to rip the souls off the Sanzu River and shove them back into a reconstructed body, but there are usually problems. Even Iwaizumi hasn’t heard of a resurrection as perfect as Oikawa’s. “I didn’t plan on it. It just… happened, honestly.”

“I wanted my son back,” Oikawa’s mother drags down the shadows. “I wanted him back terribly— and now he is. Is he?” Her body ripples with her sigh. “Is that really my son?”

“Is he not?” Iwaizumi asks. Once Oikawa got his vocal cords working again, they’d talked about everything, including Iwaizumi’s subtle probing. Small questions that nobody but he and Oikawa would know— which shows did we used to sneak downstairs to catch late at night? What was your secret present you got me last year when nobody else was looking? — And Oikawa had answered every one.

“I don’t know. He acts like my son, but…“ She closes her eyes and gathers herself. “Akihiro and I, we mourned for so long. We… we started getting used to the fact that Tooru… wouldn’t be coming home anymore.”

“Do you not want him to stay here?”

“I know you two wanted to move in together someday. Your house has an extra bedroom, doesn’t it?” She looks to the dining room, where she can hear her husband and Oikawa talking. An ache thuds across her lips, then fades into flatline. “You know him just as well as we do. If it really is Tooru, he can come home, but… I don’t know if we can lose him twice.”

Iwaizumi flares up but dies back just as quickly. He thought they’d be happy to have Oikawa back but she’s right; he can’t force them to go through a heart-wrenching disaster again. “I understand.”

With a smile as if nothing had happened, Oikawa’s mother enters the kitchen and sits next to her son. “Tooru, how would you like to live with Hajime for a little?”

Oikawa’s face is a porcelain mask before he breaks into a flush. “Staying with Iwa-chan?”

“That’s right. We need to get your room back together, after all. Would you like that?“

Oikawa’s hands shake, and Iwaizumi knows how long Oikawa’s been building up the courage to ask the same question his parents handed to him with ease. Finally, he looks to Iwaizumi, blinking as words stir in his mouth. “Are we moving in together?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi squeezes Oikawa’s hand tight. “It’s going to be great.”

Sunlight streaming through the windows has no hope of matching Oikawa. “I’ll have to pack my clothes! And some of my things— I can keep on visiting the garden, right?”

“Of course you can,” his dad laughs, “You’ll be living with Hajime, you’re not banned from the house.”

Oikawa opens and closes his mouth, looking down, flustered. “I was going to ask if Iwa-chan and I could roomshare but… I didn’t think it would be happening so soon.”

“You never know life will throw at you.”

“Or death.” Oikawa rises, face aglow.

“There he goes, off to talk to the garden again.” She sighs, watching Oikawa put on sandals and step eagerly out into the garden. Melancholy pulls on her eyes, and she tears herself away, closing herself off before that ache digs too deep. “If he’s a familiar, you did a very good job with him. He even has his memories and quirks.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Not having the knowledge to debate that, Oikawa’s mother just nods, and turns to talk with her husband.

Oikawa is bending over one of the sprouting okra, thumbing the curved sides of the pods. Iwaizumi hovers at a distance, watching Oikawa’s long fingers gently trace the stems of cucumber, his mouth slightly parted as he hums a tune.

“Your mom said that you talked to the garden. What do you talk to the plants about?”

Oikawa drums his finger along the spines of a cactus, light enough to feel but not deep enough to prick. “Oh nothing,” he hums, but his nose twitches like it always does when he’s lying.

Iwaizumi crouches down and offers Oikawa a watering can. “You can tell me,” he whispers.

The water comes out slowly, as Oikawa reorients himself with handling the watering again. The soil blackens and bubbles before Oikawa speaks again. “Secrets.”

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” Iwaizumi says before seeing how stiff Oikawa’s lips are.

“Nothing illegal. Just… you know. It’s not the same to talk to people— not even you, Iwa-chan. Everyone needs their secrets. It’s a good venting exercise. At least I could tell something, instead of keeping them inside.”

“Not even me?” Iwaizumi pauses, because as much as he knows Oikawa, he also knows that Oikawa can’t tell him absolutely everything. There’s no person in the world who is willing to share absolutely everything.

“Not even you. But it’s okay, Iwa-chan, I told something.” He spreads the turn of his hand across the garden.

Oikawa kneels by a tomato by the westhand corner, whispering something into its leaves. He stands and exhales, and the color of his cheeks look as rosy and soft as ever.

 

* * *

 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa stop breathing when they see Oikawa sitting next to Iwaizumi. Matsukawa’s mouth goes wide, testing out different emotions and none of them fitting right. Hanamaki rubs the summer haze away from his eyes, making sure what’s in front of him isn’t an illusion.

But Oikawa is still there, smug and teasing, “Did you see a ghost?”

First to Oikawa is Hanamaki, trapping him in a hug, and then Matsukawa follows, all three of them collapsing into a fountain of gasps and tears.

“You were dead,” Matsukawa speaks so fast that his lips barely have time to catch up. “You were dead-dead, we really thought…”

“How?” Hanamaki lets go of Oikawa to pat him down, prodding for missing organs. “Are you a zombie?”

“I’m not a zombie. You really think someone as handsome as me can be a zombie? Iwa-chan, on the other hand…”

“It really is you, you bastard. But seriously, how?”

“I grew back.”

The two of them know the secret of Iwaizumi’s bloodline and the magic steeped deep within it, but he can only answer their questioning stares with a shrug.

They all fall into stride easily, making up for months of lost time. Same old jokes, same old warm familiarity before chance tore those all away. Iwaizumi can’t help but let relief wash over him. His friends together again, laughing, things he thought he’d never get back all tumble warmly inside his chest.

Hanamaki starts talking about the latest livestream he watched, how the hosts dressed up like the characters and what a wild time it was. His teeth flash as he gets ready to deliver one of the punchlines, dimples creasing as he gives as many details as he can remember.

“Makki, could you talk about something else?”

Hanamaki pauses, confused. “You okay, Oikawa? I guess it’s not funny if you haven’t watched the video, let me pull it up—”

“I know. That’s all you ever talk about. Funny this, funny that. Would it kill you to change the subject once in a while? I’m sick of hearing about it!”

Hanamaki stands frozen in place, eyes wide, not sure what to say. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

The conversation slows, as if they’re all breathing in oil. It creeps on, still beating but with much less energy than before.

“I’m going to get more ice cream,” Matsukawa announces. “Iwaizumi, want to come with? They have some crazy flavors.”

“Shrimp,” Hanamaki says, earning a groan from Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan, bring me back something not-shrimp!”

“I’ll get you a triple scoop of shrimp,” Iwaizumi promises Oikawa, leaving shrieks behind.

They’re halfway to the store when Matsukawa turns on him. “You want to tell me what happened back there?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never seen him snap like that before.”

“Is that really Oikawa?”

“It’s got to be. I mean, he was able to keep up a conversation with you two, right? I know him, but I don’t know everything that he talks to you two about.”

Matsukawa nods, but a knot of skepticism ties his eyebrows together. “Look. Oikawa wants to come back from the dead, fine, whatever. But he’s not going to come back and start badmouthing his friends.”

“I didn’t think he’d start taking his fangs out like that!” Iwaizumi sighs, heat rolling across his shoulders. It’s still way too hot and humid outside, and he feels much more tired than he should. “Maybe it’s the strain of revival.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

* * *

 

Living with Oikawa isn’t as different as he imagined it to be. Long days of playing in each other’s houses, studying, and sleeping over has already made Oikawa a familiar presence before he became a permanent resident. Iwaizumi’s room is a little cramped with both of them, but the floor is wide enough for two futons, and Oikawa didn’t bring over that many things. All he stuffed in his bag was his toothbrush, a few days’ worth of clothes, headphones, his setter trophy, and all of his hair products. He could go back anytime to pick up any small things he missed, but Oikawa said something about not wanting to take up too much space. He’s always been self-conscious of that sort of thing.

Even so, it took a while for Oikawa to get used to what he could touch and what he couldn’t; don’t mess with the paper talismans because the curses in there might explode, don’t touch the knife by Iwaizumi’s stack of games because it’s enchanted to cut deep into bone. It takes some time to navigate, but Oikawa’s always been a fast learner.

Iwaizumi’s parents have interrogated him so firmly about what he was doing when he found Oikawa, what spells he’d used in the area recently, and a million other hows that he’s almost glad they’re both late from work today. He loves his parents for their delicate care in teaching him traditional magic, but their endless curiosity is more than awkward in this case.

They’ve rolled their futons out already, Oikawa scrolling through social media, and Iwaizumi trying to fish up links of a sports game. Oikawa rolls his head onto Iwaizumi’s stomach, sighing. “It’s so hot.”

“Then don’t make me even hotter. Think you’re going to rot?”

“Absolutely not!” Oikawa huffs, knocking a fist back into Iwaizumi’s side. “I’m going to stay whole and fresh and wonderful.”

“I bet you are.”

Skin to skin, they lie there, their interest in what they were doing dying down. Oikawa breathes perfume that isn’t from his shampoos, like a flower in full bloom. Iwaizumi traces a scar along Oikawa’s stomach, where an animal had bitten into him in search for a meal. His skin is soft beyond his scars, and feels warm, not cold like a corpse.

“Were you really dead?” he asks, because even if his memory reminds him of the corpse, the reports, the grief, Oikawa is here right now.

“I sure was. Somewhere, falling, drowning. But then I’m scooped out of the depths, back to you.” Oikawa lets his phone slide out of his hand and onto the floor. “Dying young, dying before I could go pro, dying. It was too soon.”

A dull ache drums in Iwaizumi’s chest, like an old stab healing. “It was too soon for me too.”

A gentle touch is on his face, and Iwaizumi realizes that he and Oikawa are so close, just beyond a flex of his fingers. Oikawa’s here, with the circles under his eyes, the crescents of his nails.

“Don’t go.” Iwaizumi doesn’t care about the whys or hows of Oikawa’s resurrection, because he’s back now, and the ache of him missing is forever gone. Oikawa is more whole than a memory, a pulse under his hand, hair product messing up his pillowcases. “Don’t go where I can’t find you.”

Oikawa’s breath smells faintly of pepper as he kisses the top of Iwaizumi’s head. “Then don’t let me go again.”

He slides himself down to close the gap between them, teeth nipping at Iwaizumi’s lips and fingers massaging his hair. Iwaizumi lets himself fall, tangling into Oikawa all the while. He thought he would’ve been the one to make the first move, but somewhere inside him, he was so worried about ruining their perfect balance that he never took that step forward. Life got in the way, and death proved that for all his excuses, Iwaizumi had just been a coward.

No longer.

A sharp pain sparks when Oikawa slips his fingers under Iwaizumi’s shirt and digs his nails into Iwaizumi’s back. Never one to back down, Iwaizumi pushes back just as hard, throwing Oikawa down and then kissing along his jaw. Soft skin, the slight underturn of his lips. Beautiful, and his hands lightly trace every part of Oikawa he can find.

“Don’t.”

Iwaizumi pauses, breathless. “Should we stop?”

“No, don’t you dare. But don’t treat me like glass either. I hate that.”

Oikawa Tooru could never shatter like glass. Oikawa is steel, steel that would never bend. But Oikawa carried a halo of radiance, and something kept Iwaizumi from reaching out and trying to grab the intangible.

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Oikawa sighs contently, and leans back in.

They both made up for all the times they’d missed, and as Oikawa holds him tight, their chests knocking together and their hearts slowing, Iwaizumi knows for sure he isn’t adoring a corpse.

He couldn’t be happier that they finally managed to connect the way he ached to, all this time. He could love Oikawa, and Oikawa could love him back. But in the mirror, the marks on his body makes it looks as if something had been trying to tear him apart.

 

* * *

 

“Say thank you, Iwa-chan. Say it as many times as you want!”

“I’m not going to beg just because you have insane luck.”

“Then I’ll take back that keychain!” Oikawa stretches out his hand, but Iwaizumi holds the plastic gachapon ball out of reach.

“You won it for me, you can’t take back a gift!”

Oikawa turns with a hum, toes skirting the grass, sunset curling across his lips. “If you don’t want to say thank you, you can always show your gratitude. Like some extra cha-su for our next ramen run. Or maybe…”

“Ah--” comes stilted, and they turn to see Kageyama standing at the edge of the park. He pales when he sees Oikawa, stepping back as if to run.

But Oikawa fixes his snaring smile and waves. “Saw a ghost, Tobio-chan?”

At the sound of that terrible nickname, Kageyama pauses. He cautiously approaches, squinting to see if Oikawa is someone else in disguise. “Oikawa-san? But… but I heard you died.”

“And I’m back!”

Iwaizumi chokes, because Kageyama’s a normal person with no concept of magic. His gachapon ball bounces out of his pocket and goes rolling down the hill. Frantically looking between his fleeing prize and Oikawa, he sputters. “Oikawa- shit, don’t just blurt out things like that!”

“But it’s true—ow!” Oikawa rubs his head where Iwaizumi hit him, pouting.

Iwaizumi is about to make up a lie, but Kageyama has that sparkle in his eyes. “Do dead people play volleyball?”

“Tobio-chan always has volleyball on the brain, huh…”

He’s barely been able to get details about the afterlife from Oikawa, so he doubts Kageyama will manage to pull out more. Aside from Oikawa’s usual irritation, the two of them seem to be fine. He excuses himself, finally able to chase after the fleeing prize.

He finds it all the way at the bottom, wedged under a tree root. It’s dirty and has a splash of mud on the sides, but the prize inside is intact. He wipes the muck off with a napkin and pockets it again.

Iwaizumi pushes away from shrubbery as he grunts and groans back up the hill, but everything comes to a complete stop.  Oikawa and Kageyama are still there, on the ground, with Oikawa’s hands wrapped around Kageyama’s throat. Kageyama is fighting beneath Oikawa, hands beating back everything he can reach, but Oikawa with gleeful ease squeezes tighter and tighter and tighter—

With a roar, Iwaizumi barrels into Oikawa, pulling him off Kageyama. Even if Oikawa’s just as strong as he is, the shock must have paralyzed him, because he doesn’t defend himself when Iwaizumi’s fist collides into his stomach. “What are you doing? Are you insane?”

Still stumbling, Oikawa looks up with confusion, like he’s surprised Iwaizumi stopped him.

Iwaizumi helps Kageyama sit up as the boy gasps, desperately trying to suck in air. “Go home!” Iwaizumi yells. “Get out of here!”

Oikawa draws back, looking like he still doesn’t understand. One step, two, and he walks away, looking back over his shoulder like he’s waiting for Iwaizumi to get up and follow him.

Iwaizumi doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

“Why did you do that to Kageyama?”

Oikawa pats down the soil beneath the roses, and moves onto the hanging pots. “Because he was becoming too large.”

“You wanted to see him get better,” Iwaizumi harshly reminds him. “You wanted to see him grow.”

Oikawa’s fingers trace the edges of the closed morning glory buds before he picks up his shears. “Grow, yes. And he should grow and become great. But,” Oikawa’s eyes trail up the climbing vines, to where they have started to wrap around the chains holding the pot in place. “If he becomes too big, he’ll just be troublesome. He needs to be good— but not overstep himself.”

Carefully, Oikawa undoes the vines from the chains as best he can, but some vines have twisted among themselves into the chain links. It would be impossible to get them out without destroying the now large leaves that have grown further down the vine.

“Something out of control isn’t lovely anymore, it’s just troublesome.” Oikawa tests the ease of the shears, then gets to work.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Kageyama says, plain and simple. There are no bandages visible, but his pale skin makes the dark petals on his neck all the more gruesome.

Kageyama’s words are meant to comfort him, but Iwaizumi can only hear an accusation. Iwaizumi’s never been inside Kageyama’s home before, and he definitely didn’t want his first visit to be like this.

“I wondered if Oikawa-san liked me or not,” Kageyama mumbles. Too heavy for him, his head lolls, chin to his chest. “I didn’t think he hated me.”

“He didn’t,” Iwaizumi insists, because he knows how as frustrated Oikawa was at Kageyama, he’d never want to hurt him. Never, but still Oikawa’s hands were snug around Kageyama’s throat.

“I didn’t hate him,” Kageyama stares down to his sandwich, and how a line of ants are crowding the crumbs below. “Should I have?”

“No.” Iwaizumi is quick to reply. “You weren’t wrong. Oikawa’s just—“ Freshly undead. “Stressed lately. I think he had a mental breakdown, and… and you were unfortunately nearby.”

Kageyama looks at him, tired, not sure whether to believe Iwaizumi’s words or his new and harsh reality. “Iwaizumi-san, you’re nice. You’re very honest.”

“Uh… thank you.”

“You care a lot for Oikawa-san.” Then small, and sad, “You’re on his side.”

Iwaizumi freezes. “What?“

“It doesn’t matter what he does, you trust him. I thought it was just on the court, but...”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi tries to quell the flood of panic slowly rising, “that’s not true. That stupid idiot does dumb things all the time, you’ve seen me yell at him for it.”

“Why didn’t you bring Oikawa-san with you?” Kageyama doesn’t frown, he doesn’t even look angry. He looks tired and confused, and Iwaizumi wishes Kageyama would rage like he always does, because at least that would be normal.

He can’t say that he needs to keep Oikawa indoors to ensure that nobody else gets hurt, and that Iwaizumi can check to make sure if his magic is malfunctioning. “Mental breakdown. He has to stay home for a few more days.”

Kageyama’s voice stilts, and after a breath, goes flat. “Are you… the peacekeeper?”

“Kageyama- I was worried about you. I wanted to check up on you!”

“I know.” The color creeps from Kageyama’s face, and he looks very small. “What did you want me to say?”

“Kageyama—” Iwaizumi starts, but Kageyama shakes his head. Somewhere along the line, Kageyama’s grown up and has become tired of making up excuses.

“Thank you for checking up on me, but please go home. Oikawa-san can come and tell me what happened himself. Then he can say he’s sorry, or he can finish what he started.”

 

* * *

 

Over the years, he’d told this garden all the good things that happened in his day, and sometimes all the love he felt for Oikawa but could never manage to say. The garden he grew was comforting and serene, but now he isn’t so sure if he can let these feelings out.

Oikawa has their futons already rolled out, watching some videos on his phone.

They lie there quietly, neither one making the first move to breach their silence. Oikawa shifts over, and presses his shoulder against Iwaizumi’s, and finds Iwaizumi unyielding in response. “Don’t be so stiff.”

“Are you upset?”

“I’m upset that you’re not letting me be comfortable.”

“I’m serious.”

Oikawa usually answers his questions, but he stays silent and turns away. “Not really.”

The question pounds in Iwaizumi’s head louder and louder until it’s all he can think about. It’s all he’s been able to think about for the past few days. “Why did you strangle Kageyama?”

“I felt like it.”

“What kind of cold answer is that?”

“The answer.”

“Don’t fuck around. What if you killed him?”

Oikawa idly taps his chin with his finger. “A body would be hard to dispose of. There aren’t exactly giant waste dumps anywhere nearby. People check park trash pretty often, so it’s no good to throw in something that would attract animals…”

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenches, and he grabs Oikawa by the collar. “This isn’t a joke. If I had taken a little longer, you might have ended up killing him! You say you wanted to scare him, but you don’t strangle someone as a scare!”

“What do you want me to say?” Oikawa shoots back, teeth bared, eyes flaring. “He’s an annoying brat, a stain. Like gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Is it that surprising I want him gone?”

“You’ve always been annoyed with Kageyama, sure, but you wouldn’t hurt him. You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve always wanted to.”

A chill fits snug under Iwaizumi’s tongue. It spreads across his neck, shoulders, skin, whitening his eyes and shortening his breath. He lets go, pushing Oikawa away, scrambling to snatch up his enchanted knife. “You’re not Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s scowl lights a fire, the perfume from his breath wrapping the room in a noose. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You snapped at Hanamaki!”

“Oh, you’re not allowed to get annoyed with your friends either?”

“You’ve been short with me!”

“We’ve never had a cutesy friendship, Iwa-chan, you of all people should know that. Friends aren’t perfect! Not even my partner.”

“This is insane. Oikawa wouldn’t let it get this far. Oikawa— Oikawa’s too good for that!”

“No? Do you think I’m some ethereal god that never gets angry or annoyed? Then what you want? Someone soft and needy and desperate for you? If you aren’t able to see me at my worst, then you have no right to see me at my best.”

“No! This isn’t best or worst, Oikawa would never want to do something like that!”

“Then you didn’t know me.”

Oikawa makes it sound like he’s overreacting, but he’s not. Oikawa nearly killed Kageyama, and he’s been strangely furious ever since his revival. But this can’t be a fake, can it? This Oikawa knew the layout of his house perfectly, knew things only Oikawa would know, was even ticklish in the same spots as Oikawa. Not even a cloaked familiar would have been this perfect.

Was it the place where Oikawa came back from? There was nothing strange in the garden, Oikawa didn’t even like using pesticides, so it’s not like any sort of chemical interference could have warped him. Then what? What?

The garden. Every day, just how Iwaizumi went to his gardens and spoke of his love, Oikawa had went to his garden and vented his furies. Small complaints about the day, heart-wrenching feelings that he could never say out loud— he spoke them all to the garden, so he could get them out and forget them. If he said them out loud, then he could leave them behind, and seal them away forever. Nobody heard him— nobody but the plants. Nobody but the garden.

Had it remembered? The garden, gave life from magic and sustained through Oikawa’s words and care must have absorbed Oikawa’s emotions over time, turning it into poison. The same place that birthed the Oikawa before him.  

Everything Oikawa said wasn’t wrong. They were Oikawa’s feelings, only feelings he had locked away in the small space behind his house so he could smile during the day. He hadn’t brought Oikawa back, or at least not all of him back.

He has to fix it. He can’t let Oikawa suffer through nothing, poisoned with only his worst thoughts. Of all people, he can do something. He can make it all better again.

“Oikawa,” he starts, and his voice is cracked as he realizes he’s crying. “I did this to you.”

Oikawa pauses, sliding across the space between them. “Iwa-chan, I… I’ve gotten upset at you, but of course I have, you aren’t perfect. You don’t have to be perfect for me.”

With a panicked heave, Iwaizumi takes Oikawa by the shoulder. Even steeped in poison, he smells sweet and beautiful. “I’ll make things better. I promise.”

“I know you will.”

“I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi tightens his grip on the handle of the knife, and with one stroke, plunges the blade into Oikawa’s chest.

Oikawa screams, a sound Iwaizumi never wants to hear, but he pulls the blade out and digs it in again. Nails tear at Iwaizumi’s shirt as Oikawa bucks, trying to push Iwaizumi away from him, but Iwaizumi pushes his weight down on Oikawa, twisting the knife in deeper.

A bubble of blood pops at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, and he’s fighting, even with two gaps in his chest. He claws at Iwaizumi’s neck, and his nails almost nick Iwaizumi’s face, but curve away. His shirt is soaked with blood, shuddering as Iwaizumi drives the knife into him a third time.

“I’m so sorry.” Iwaizumi’s voice has crumbled, tears falling freely now. He never wanted to see anything like this, but he has no other choice.

Oikawa’s chest rises and falls desperately as his lungs fill with fluid. “Why?” he gurgles, lips stained red with oozing blood.

“I didn’t bring you back right. I didn’t… but I’ll fix it. I promise. I’ll bring you back.”

“I’m back.”

“Not all of you.”

Iwaizumi loses the knife behind him somewhere as he clutches Oikawa close to him. Oikawa’s blood gets into his hair, clothes, everything, but he can only feel Oikawa’s frantic breaths start to slow.

“I loved you. But you didn’t love me. Not all of me.” Oikawa trickles out, no louder than a whisper, before that fades along with his breath.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi borrows his parent’s car and burns the body in the mountains. It takes much longer than it would in a crematorium, but Iwaizumi watches the fire flicker until there’s nothing left to consume. He scoops the ashes into an urn and takes them home.

The flowers in Iwaizumi’s garden are as rich as ever, and frames the ashes around them like a crown.

Every day he keeps up his routine and whispers to the plants stories of his love, waiting until the day that Oikawa comes back, whole this time.


End file.
